


What's in a name?

by MercurySkies



Category: Buzzfeed Unsolved (Web Series)
Genre: Fae & Fairies, Fae Shane, First Meetings, Getting Together, Getting to Know Each Other, Halloween, M/M, Magic, Romance, Tumblr: Buzzfeed Creations Challenge, Witch Ryan, Witch Shane, Witchcraft, Witches
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-31
Updated: 2018-10-31
Packaged: 2019-08-11 03:29:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16467806
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MercurySkies/pseuds/MercurySkies
Summary: ‘“So you want me to make a deal with a strange, fae, witch I met in the woods in the middle of the night?” The witch adds, hands on his hips and looking incredibly dubious. Shane rolls his eyes, feeling vaguely offended, his fae heritage a touchy subject.“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we were still living in the 17th century.”“It may be 2018 but I’m still not in the habit of cutting deals with guys that look like they could be Big Foot’s long lost nephew in the middle of the woods at dick o’clock in the morning.”’Prompt fill for the Halloween round of The Buzzfeed Creations Challenge!





	What's in a name?

**Author's Note:**

> Posting late because it was my parents' wedding anniversary! My fill for this months Halloween round of the buzzfeed creations challenge for the following prompt:
> 
> _The beacon light shines on the hill,  
>  The will-o’-wisps the forests fill  
> With flashes filched from noon;  
> And **witches** on their broomsticks spry  
>  Speed here and yonder in the sky,  
> And life their strident voices high  
> Unto the Hunter’s moon._

Ryan never strays from the path. A boy raised by witches knows never to stray from the path, just as he knows never to cut hawthorn without asking first or to never cross a fairy ring. Ryan never strays from the path, until of course, curiosity gets the better of him.

The forest at night is a different world. Ryan frequents it but rarely after dark, wary of the secrets the trees hold. Clearly, he’s not wary enough. Sleep deprived, and tired of staring at his bedroom ceiling, he decides to take a walk through the woods, maybe cast a quick healing spell to cure him of whatever keeps him up at night. He’s drawn to the quiet sanctuary of the forest, hopeful that the natural white noise it produces will make a blissful lullaby.

As he so often is, Ryan is wrong. There is nothing soothing about the forest at night, in fact, it is simply fucking terrifying. The trees are close and their canopy dense, the misty moonlight barely reaching the forest floor through the umbrella of their leaves. The noises of nearby animals start to sound strange and unnatural, echoing through the rapidly chilling air, ricocheting from tree to tree until it sounds as though he’s surrounded by them. The sound of his own footfall seems amplified in the empty air, making him feel as though he’s being followed, sure he’s hearing two sets of footsteps instead of just one. He had entered the forest curious as to what the woods were like under the cover of darkness, and so far he’s found only fear. Fear that swamps his senses until it seizes his throat, breath rattling out of him as he turns on his heel and stumbles back the way he came. He has cast no wards, he is protected by nothing but the watchful eye of his ancestors and his own power. He starts to lose his grip, casting his eyes around wildly so that he loses track, loses sight of the path. Before he knows it he’s amongst unfamiliar trees, the oppressive darkness impeding his vision, making the shadows more severe, making them slither, slowly, across the forest floor.

 

* * *

 

There is a witch. A very curious witch. Shane has been watching him for a while. There are only so many forests close to civilisation that are easy for folks like him, like them, to frequent in between holding down a job. He usually observes him during the day, something akin to fondness making his chest ache as he watches him collect herbs or perform small rituals, cast his pleasant little spells. Of all people, Shane had thought another witch would sense his presence in the forest, but he remains oblivious.

Shane likes this witch. He is a bright burst of unadulterated magic, and the forest glows whenever he walks it, flowers bloom and the trees arch toward his light. He also likes that he’s considerate, observing the rules of the forest studiously, never taking without giving, leaving nothing behind. But tonight is different. He strays from the path. He trips and stumbles, shakes with every quickening step. Shane flits from tree to tree, silent and unseen, growing more and more worried the deeper the man delves into the heart of the forest. This forest is far from malevolent but it isn’t safe. There are creatures far more dangerous than Shane lurking amongst the decaying leaves, more poisonous than the fungi that litter the tree stumps, more ancient than the oldest of the trees. Shane himself certainly isn’t harmless but at least he has a moral compass, be it a slightly wonky one.

He swoops down to the ground, careful not to make too much noise as he drops to the forest floor. Evidently, he is not quiet enough. The witch shrieks at the sound of a twig snapping beneath his boots and Shane has to immobilise him with a muttered spell to stop him from bolting, running blindly deeper into the heart of the woods.

“Hey shhh- hey stop- stop screaming.” Shane conjures a small orb of light so that the witch can better see him. “I’m not gonna hurt you, and if you run you’ll only get more lost.” He eases up the immobilisation spell and to Shane’s surprise the witch doesn’t run, just eyes him warily.

“You’re a witch?” He asks.

“Of sorts,” Shane replies with a grin and a series of purple orbs flicker into existence one by one lighting a winding path through the forest “follow me.”

“Follow- I don’t even know you!”

“Shane Madej.” Shane says holding out a hand. The witch eyes it suspiciously. _Smart_.

Shane’s hand hovers in the air for a while before he shoves it into the pocket of his jacket. His face aches with just how hard he’s smiling. “No name? Impolite but smart, smarter than wandering the woods at night, alone and with no means of protection.” The witch opens his mouth to protest, eyebrows drawn together adorably in indignation but Shane cuts him off before he can even begin. “Let’s make a deal.”

“You want me to make a deal with you? A strange witch in the middle of the woods? Wait-” The witch pauses, dark brown eyes boring into Shane’s own. He shivers, trying hard not to flush under the man’s intense stare. “You’re fae aren’t you?”

Shane is silenced momentarily by the shock. No one has been able to tell on sight before, despite his eyes that shift colour with the light, the slightly pointed ears, his tall form and strange grace no one has ever suspected he’s a witch let alone that he’s also half fae. “Clever little witch aren’t you?” He replies with a pout. “I’m half fae on my mother’s side if you must know.” The witch looks awfully proud of himself and it’s an attractive sort of smugness that makes Shane’s cheeks feel warm.

“So you want me to make a deal with a strange fae witch I met in the woods in the middle of the night?” The witch adds, hands on his hips and looking incredibly dubious. Shane rolls his eyes, feeling vaguely offended, his fae heritage a touchy subject.

“I’m sorry, I wasn’t aware we were still living in the 17th century.”

“It may be 2018 but I’m still not in the habit of cutting deals with guys that could be Bigfoot's long lost nephew in the middle of the woods at dick o’clock in the morning.”

“ _Dick o-cl_ \- you know what never mind. I’ll show you the way out of the forest if you’ll give me your name once we reach the edge.” Shane tilts his chin upward and waits, throws the deal down as if it’s a challenge for the witch to accept. He isn’t really sure why he’s posing such an ultimatum, he’ll help him find his way regardless of his answer. There’s something about the fact he could tell he’s part fae that makes him want to live up to it, despite how many of the myths surrounding his kind aren’t true. Maybe the myth and mystery will intrigue him, impress him, anything to keep the witch’s dark eyes on him for a little while longer.

A slow smile stretches across the man’s face, bright and mischievous, “And if I don’t agree to these terms?” He asks. Shane shrugs.

“I guess that’s just a risk you’ll have to take.” He adds a wink for good measure rocking back on his heels.

“Fine, it’s a deal.” The witch grins, thrusting out a hand. Shane shakes it, tries not to linger on the feeling of warm skin against his own. Technically the deal has been struck, should the witch not make good on their deal Shane can take any form of compensation he deems fit. For once the illusion of being a powerful trickster is almost better than the real thing, he needs no compensation for that should the witch decide to stiff him and provide a fake name when they reach the edge of the forest.

Shane coughs, drops the man’s hand like he can’t bear to hold it any longer although he feels quite the opposite. “Right” He says decisively, cursing his voice for cracking “just follow the wisps.” He starts along the path lit by bobbing purple lights.

“Wait!” The witch calls, tugging violently on Shane’s sleeve and looking like he’s about to lose his mind with fear. “Follow the wisps? Are you insane?”

“Um probably,” Shane shrugs “these aren’t _wisp_ wisps, they’re just witch light I use to mark safe paths through the forest. Think of them as my breadcrumbs.” He leads the way along the orb lined path. The witch follows hesitantly but trusts that Shane is telling the truth. He explains the difference between wisps and his own lights, how it responds to his presence. He waves a palm over a ball of purple light and it moves and dances between his fingertips before fading. He knows his way around the forest well in daylight but the natural signposts are hard to see at night so he uses magic to light the way.

The witch asks question after question, always curious. His wonder at Shane’s use of magic is flattering and he can feel himself itching to show off. When they reach a fork in their patch Shane chooses the path to their left despite the fact that the path to their right leads straight to the forest’s edge.

A flicker of fear darkens the witch’s eyes as they reach the solid wall of foliage as familiar to Shane as his own home. “This doesn’t look like the edge of the forest.” He says with a shaky laugh. He shifts his weight from foot to foot, rubbing his hands together. Shane feels only a little bit bad for scaring him but the wide eyed fright on the man’s face makes him smile, a small spark of satisfaction warming his chest.

“We took a little detour. I want to show you something.” A wisp dances into his palm and promptly transforms into a flickering purple flame that wraps itself around Shane’s fingers like iridescent ribbon.

“Is the ‘something’, your murder lair?” Ryan quips, a tremor in his voice. He’s only half joking.

Shane rolls his eyes “If you really thought I was gonna kill you, you probably wouldn’t be making witty non sequiturs.”

The purple flame grows, dancing rapidly between Shane’s fingers until, with a graceful flick of his wrist, he throws it at the dense foliage. The leaves catch quickly, burning up with a satisfying crackle. They seem to shrink back, the purple of the flames mixing with the orange embers propelled by the rapidly spreading fire. The flames dance across the green expanse like forks of lightning until the leaves and branches simply fade away leaving a small opening into what appears to be a clearing beyond. Shane never tires of watching this particular piece of his own handiwork. They step through the opening and the foliage regenerates as if the leaves are burning in reverse, vines growing rapidly from their own ashes. The clearing they now stand in is Shane’s pièce de résistance, his very own magical sanctuary hidden in plain sight. Every time he steps across the threshold of the tiny grove he feels a wave of indescribable peace wash over him. He looks down at the witch he’s bought into his most private of spaces and thinks that it has been worth it just to see the look of awe on the man’s face.

“This is-” he breathes out, voice quiet as he starts to move about the grove taking in Shane’s small cabin with is porch littered with charms and lanterns and the adjacent garden smelling strongly of lavender and rosemary “This is magical.”

Shane laughs “That it is.” Obi his faithful cat and familiar plods out from the flap in the cabin’s front door and trots over to him, promptly climbing up his body to perch on his shoulder.

“You’re like something out of a fairy tale.” The witch teases but Shane takes it as a compliment, the tales his mother had told him at bed time are the foundation upon which he has built his craft, traditional, spells and practices passed down from one witch to another. “Do you live here?” Ryan asks, wonder in his voice as his fingertips brush across a wooden work table, carved messily by Shane’s own two hands.

“No, I live in the city but I spend a lot of time out here, I stay over sometimes. It’s peaceful.” Shane feels suddenly shy, focuses on scratching Obi behind his ears instead of watching the witch’s every move like some silent weirdo.

“I never even considered using magic to create somewhere like this. A magical hideaway, surrounded by nature. I mainly use mine to try and boost the WiFi. Never works.”

Shane smirks “Check your phone.” Sure enough he does as he’s told and grins when he spies he’s connected. “I may like the outdoors but I _love_ Netflix.” Ryan’s laugh chimes like a bell calling Shane to him and it leaves him rattled, slightly off kilter. Obi wriggles and jumps from his shoulder. When he lands he turns to look back and gives him a look that’s somehow reproachful. Shane checks the time “The witching hour, ironic.” He smiles, touched when Ryan looks mournful at having to leave the clearing so soon. He’s glad that someone else appreciates such a special place. Shane leads them back the way they came, making a mental note to place wisps that will respond to the new witch, ensuring he’ll always find his way. A small part of Shane hopes that they will help him find his way back to him.

They follow Shane’s wisps, doubling back and taking the path to the right when they once again reach the fork where the two trails of wisps intersect. It isn’t long before they reach the outskirts of the woods where it backs onto a road, an abandoned Prius a little further to their right, the hazard lights just visible when they emerge onto the moonlit asphalt. Shane’s stomach twists itself into nauseous knots as he mentally scrambles for something to say.

“My name’s Ricky Go-” The witch starts as soon as the sole of his sneakers touch the road.

“No it isn’t,” Shane scoffs, grinning from ear to ear and unsurprised that the witch as defaulted on their deal “that is the most obviously fake name I’ve ever heard. Honestly? I expected better of you.”

“And, I expect that there won’t be any repercussions for not making good on our deal.”

“You’d be correct. Damn, this is what I get for saving witches in distress out of the goodness of my heart.”

“I foiled the dastardly fae, they’ll be singing ballads of me soon enough.”

“Alright alright, make good on this deal at least.” Shane asks, a flutter of nervousness tickling his rib cage.

“You and your deals. What is it mighty Sidhe Shane?”

“You’re insufferable and I don’t know why I’m even proposing this but visit me sometime, at the grove. I’ll ensure you’ll always find your way through the forest.”

“What do you get out of it?” He tilts his head, brows furrowed.

“Double the power for a ritual or two,” Shane shrugs “and the company of someone like me for once, someone I don’t have to hide from.” It feels too honest, too much, but the witch nods, a look of understanding clouding his features.

“Deal” he says quickly, reaching a palm out to shake.

“Deal?” Shane asks, hand hovering inches from _Ricky’s._ He’d expected him to refuse, but he smiles as if the prospect is something to look forward to. Of course Shane has no guarantees he’ll ever return and even though Shane could force him to make good on his word he never would.

“Somehow I don’t think I’m at much risk of anything if I answer either way. So why the fuck not?” He shrugs, smiling ruefully as he drops his hand and shoves both of them in his pockets.

“ _Why the fuck not?_ ” Shane mocks. “See you later then, _Ricky_.” He winks, watches as the witch throws his head back with laughter. He gives a jaunty wave, walking backward until he almost trips on a wayward tree branch. Shane watches until he disappears back to the hustle and bustle of the town beyond, the man obscured by concrete, neon and asphalt.

 

* * *

 

A deal’s a deal. They follow rules, fine print and loopholes. Shane is fond of deals, bets and wagers. It’s in his nature, it’s in his blood. The witch broke one of the two deals he struck and by right Shane can seek compensation. After consulting with Obi, Shane seeks the only compensation befitting a fae like himself and asks for the man’s name, a witch by the name of Ryan Bergara. A name is a powerful thing but ownership can only be transferred by the owner themselves, Shane’s right to compensation only allows him to _know_ Ryan’s name, not to use it or own it.

The second of their deals, Ryan makes good on and he returns to the grove. He trips several of Shane’s wards trying to burn down the entrance to the grove, trying to mimic Shane’s magic with almost disastrous consequences. Luckily, Ryan has an affinity for healing magic, for encouraging growth and prosperity so the ground is thankfully unscathed, new growth sure to spring from the slightly scorched soil. The way he presses his palms to the earth, a golden glow fanning out across the forest floor like roots is mesmerising, beautiful. The forest hums with his energy, Shane can feel it.

There’s something about promises being kept that has warm satisfaction curling up in his chest like a cat by an open fire. He never can tell whether it’s the fae in him or the fact he’s a little bit of a sucker for romance and when it comes to Ryan Bergara there’s certainly a healthy helping of the latter. He honestly hadn’t been expecting Ryan to return, he’d thought he’d made it clear that there’d be no repercussions if he weren’t to follow through on their agreement so his presence is confusing but definitely welcome. Obi immediate bolts from his spot curled up in Shane’s chair on the porch and sidles up to him, surveying their visitor with interest. “Hi.” Shane breathes out in greeting. His hands are dirty from tending the herbs and he’s wearing a cardigan that’s so full of holes he wouldn’t be seen dead wearing it anywhere but the grove, where no one else can see him. He hadn’t anticipated company. He wipes his hands on his jeans and tries not to fidget. “I honestly didn’t expect you to take our deal seriously.” He laughs, playing the whole thing off as a joke but he’s very aware that Ryan is standing in front of him in a tight grey t-shirt, and a jacket that makes his shoulders look so broad and strong he may as well be carrying the Sahara Desert upon the expanse of muscle beneath denim and cotton with the sheer amount of thirst Shane is experiencing. Shane’s just a modern guy who may have dreamt of this, maybe even cast a few spells so that the cosmos might provide him with the eye candy he longs for. Well he sure needs to make an offering or five now. Blessed be _indeed_.

“And incur the wrath of the fae? No way dude!” Ryan grins at him and Shane can’t help but laugh, a breathy, wheezing little thing that sounds like the air has just been punched out of him.

“Would you like some tea?” He asks. Something about Ryan softens at Shane’s offer of hospitality, gaze warm and amused as he follows Shane toward the cabin.

“Sure!” He says ducking beneath a stray wind chime, “Nice hat by the way!”

 

* * *

 

Ryan loves hanging out at the grove and he’s coming to love hanging out with Shane too. There’s something so soothing about being in Shane’s presence, totally secluded from the outside world by the impenetrable foliage, bar the ridiculously fast internet Shane’s managed to rig the cabin with. They’re just like normal friends, they hang out, watch movies, cast spells under the light of the moon, lend each other a little extra juice for a ritual or two, you know, just bro things. Staring at your friend’s hands as he delicately chops herbs and sorts them into their neatly labelled containers, long fingers deftly handling the knife, sweeping lavender and hawthorn from the workbench and tipping them carefully into their own little jars. Just bro things.

Watching Shane work is a treat, despite his height he’s so familiar with his surroundings, so comfortable in his own space and with Ryan, that his movements always seem ethereally graceful. There truly is a touch of the other world about him and Shane blushes whenever Ryan mentions the slight tip to his ears, the copper and golden hue to his hair. The most breathtaking of all is his eyes, the afternoon light has them shimmering ever so slightly, so minutely that Ryan can only tell because he’s staring. When Shane looks at him, with dark brown eyes the colour of rosewood, it’s as if the whole forest looks with him. Ryan feels no fear when he enter the woods now, although Shane always reminds him to be careful, that there are still creatures far more menacing than him lurking in the bracken. He follows Shane’s wisps and it feels like home whenever he’s greeted at the grove, Shane in his worn boots and pointed hat, Obi at his feet or perched eagerly on his shoulder.

They grow and they learn alongside each other. Shane teaches Ryan the ways of the forest, how to help plants flourish and how to finally boost his internet. Ryan teaches Shane how to imbue things with life. He teaches Shane animation spells, making inanimate objects, dance and jump about the grove. He levitates the lanterns and wind chimes hanging from the porch and conducts them in a candlelit symphony. Perhaps most importantly he teaches Shane how to make a potion that soothes muscle pain and another for the headaches he often suffers from. He truly is an excellent healer, even if he does say so himself.

It’s an unusually cold night in California when something changes. Shane has been strangely quiet as they sit together out on the porch. He’s for once, without his pointy hat, instead his mousy brown hair sticks up in all directions. He looks tired, contemplative, as he pets Obi who is curled up on his lap, purring away contentedly. They’d spent the afternoon flying around the forest, laughter bouncing between the trees as they dared each other to fly faster, weaving between branches as they screamed at each other over the sound of wind rushing passed their ears. Ryan has never had his own broomstick before, despite being a witch he’s always stuck to the bikes he used to ride home from school on and, of course, his Prius. Shane had helped him cobble one together, Shane who apparently owns a car but almost exclusively travels by broom and by uber because he’s apparently a hipster witch that happens to love tequila sunrises.

“Ya know,” He starts, voice weak and strained, “you don’t have to keep coming here.” He doesn’t look up from where his fingers are buried in Obi’s fur. “I’m not gonna like steal your soul or anything if you don’t wanna come back.” He chuckles, barely an exhale of breath, a weak attempt at a joke. Ryan hesitates, a heavy weight settling in his stomach at the thought that maybe Shane doesn’t want him to come back, that he’s tired of his company.

“Do you not want me to keep coming here?” He asks, hating how high pitched his voice sounds. Shane just shakes his head with a small, sad smile.

“Of course I do.” He pauses “Do you _want_ to keep coming here?”

Ryan simply gapes at him. The notion that he could possibly not want to be there, surrounded by nature and magic, and with Shane, is unfathomable. He wants to tell him that he never wants to leave, that every minute he spends away from the little sanctuary is a minute he wishes he was back there, watching the Lakers game in the tiny cabin, Shane sprawled out beside him, Obi curled up in front of the fire. He wants to tell him that he sees Shane everywhere, wishes Shane could tag along whenever he’s out doing something in the city. He wants to tell Shane that he’d never leave if he let him stay.

“Of course dude!” He says instead, earnest but just short of a confession. “I love this place!”

Shane smiles and nods, seemingly satisfied but there’s something off about him still, like he’s not quite convinced. Ryan just has to prove it to him, not just that he wants to visit the grove but that he wants Shane.

 

* * *

 

Shane hasn’t asked for Ryan’s name let alone his phone number. This strikes Ryan as a problem. The last time he had visited the grove Shane had seemed distant and yet Obi was even more affectionate than usual. Ryan practically had to chug antihistamines when he got back to his apartment. They’ve been hanging out at the grove for weeks, they’ve grown so close and yet... Yet _nothing_.

Ryan isn’t blind, he sees the way Shane watches him when he thinks he isn’t looking. It’s a gaze softer and more reverent than Ryan is sure he deserves but it’s there and Ryan feels it, feels the pull between them, feels how the forest almost calls to him, calls him back to Shane whenever he heads back to the city. He knows Shane doesn’t live at the grove but Shane and that magical place are so interconnected in his mind that he can scarcely imagine Shane outside of it, in a regular apartment, holding down a regular job.

Perhaps that’s what has him hesitating to take this _thing_ they have any further. Despite Shane’s weird behaviour he has no idea how they’d be, beyond the safe, leafy canopy of the clearing. How do you go from casting spells side by side to pretending that you’re both nothing more than just two guys on a date? How can Ryan sit across from Shane at dinner knowing what he looks like when he has fire in his eyes, sparks flying from his fingertips and creating little works of art from the embers that drift to the ground? How can he introduce him to his friends without remembering the sight of him, hat slipping down his giant head as he grins, hands buried in earth at the base of an old oak as they both cured it of oak wilt?

It’s hard enough having to hide himself, his gift, his family’s gift, passed down from generation to generation. Watching Shane do the same would be crushing. But they’d have the grove. Shane’s clearing that could be _theirs_. A refuge for when the world is still too small for them to fully be a part of it.

Ryan makes his decision as he rushes into a random coffee shop on his way to work. He’s going to be late but nervous excitement buzzes through his mind, making his blood fizz through his veins as he thinks about how he’s going to ask Shane out on his next visit. He’s so preoccupied by his plans, he barely looks up as he places his order. “Can I take a name sir?” A smooth voice asks and Ryan provides him with one, not looking up from the notes app on his phone. It isn’t until he reaches the end of the bar that he pockets it and looks up. He’s made a grave mistake. There at the bar stands Shane, grinning from ear to ear, his dark eyes shimmering even in the artificial light of the coffee shop. “One large Americano with an extra shot for...”  
" _Ryan_ ”

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! You can find me on tumblr [@mercury-skies](https://mercury-skies.tumblr.com/) and don't forget to check out the fill by my partner for this round [@exceedinglyregular](https://exceedinglyregular.tumblr.com/)!


End file.
